The Man Called Husband
by Kittie Darkhart
Summary: Peter Pan had always loved his Wendy. For even when she grew up and he remained a child forever, he could not deny the feelings she inspired in him from that first kiss. But then, so had a Captain's words proven unfortunately true...


Disclaimer: I do not own _Peter Pan_, characters, places, etc. All rights belong to J.M. Barrie. Also, parts mentioned from the 2003 P.J. Hogan film belong to Universal Studios and their respected owners.

Summary: Peter Pan had always loved his Wendy. For even when she grew up and he remained a child forever, he could not deny the feelings she inspired from that first kiss, as it made him into something more than a boy who never wanted to grow up and always have fun. But then, so had a Captain's words proved unfortunately true.

The Man Called Husband

_'And what is this I see? There is another in your place. He is called _husband_.' _— Captain Hook to Peter Pan, from P.J. Hogan's 2003 adaptation of _Peter Pan_.

...

The fading warmth the London sun offered streamed across a sea of rooftops, its radiant orange beams set aglow by the dull, darkened shadows that reached out from a myriad of unseen alleyways and street corners. Darkness leached out from its impervious lair, as if extending its shadowy limbs toward that wondrous touch of the now dying star. Its dark hands collided against the sun's fading eminence, feeling what it dared to deem as pure as the city itself groaned in exhaustion from another listless day of simply being.

Night soon descended; and with it, a blanket of stars, now unfortunately dimmed by a thousand, dirty, blackened fingers—fingers of smoke, having escaped from their prisons through a score of battle-worn chimneys. The crisp, cool air of the imminent night followed in its sibling's wake, a cold winter's promise resting idly upon a pair of intangible, formless lips.

But its silent vow was of little comparison to the now teasing northern front, the brilliant transcendence the winter wind made as it wafted through the dusky streets, sliding in between the cracks of houses, built too closely together, and thus finding a portion of itself drift past a window, left half-open, warm, and inviting. It lingered in this new space, presently, the warmth from a recently-lit fire caressing its nebulous form with a silent touch of comfort it could not know elsewhere.

The amorphous zephyr thus drifted, its invisible presence looking beyond the portal from whence it came. For as all who gazed past the window and into the room would know, as the wind did, that this was no ordinary room, at all: it was the legendary nursery that once belonged to the famed Darling children, those same darling children, who had, by now, unfortunately grown up, as was the way for all children…except one.

A solitary shadow fell across the outside casing, its wiry shape a familiar fingerprint that had been wiped away long ago. A rustle of leaves and a gentle fall of a pair of feet, tanned and dirtied by a foreign sun, was the only sound made, save for the gentle whisper of the ever-wise wind.

And so the blissful, beautiful vision that was Peter Pan looked in, his inquisitive blue eyes peering through the glass. He gazed fondly upon the room, which had remained much unchanged from his first happening upon the Darling children and Wendy's enchanting stories. His translucent reflection smirked in triumph, the vision of eager anticipation etched into his firm brow as he waited, patiently, mindless of the hours soundlessly ticking by.

But he had not come to see Jane, with her clear blue eyes and artless smile. No, he came to see Wendy, his old mother, who had unfortunately grown up without his notice. He sulked at the very thought of it, instantly contrite. She had betrayed him, leaving him with the hopelessness of finding things that should have remained untouched and unchanged, but had changed by the perpetual reality of the inevitable. And so the world turned, and Wendy had grown up.

She was not so hideous in this newly disturbing form, though, he quietly admitted. Indeed, she was quite beautiful, like a graceful faerie sans its stardust wings. And though he could not fault her for becoming so fair a woman, he missed the child that was Wendy so much that his heart almost ached with a sense of longing that he could not place into simple, childish words. It was this same, gnawing, biting sensation that ate at him since upon first meeting her. He dared not reflect upon the _kiss_ they shared. It would indeed prove too much for his already wounded heart.

For just as he dismissed these thoughtless beginnings of an incurable pain, he saw the door open and her wondrous figure—that glorious personage that both comforted and tormented him through many turbulent nights and disturbing dreams—enter.

She was a vision to behold: her dark hair, tied loosely at the nape of that long beautiful neck, fell like a black river over a pair of ivory-toned shoulders. Her sepia-toned eyes glinted like a pair of dark diamonds, as a hint of starlight danced in each soulful orb. The simple white dress she wore—a far cry from the girlish nightgown he so vaguely remembered—was set ablaze by the firelight, its rich red-orange hue adding depth, too profound for words, to the shallow room.

He could scarcely function at the sight of her, his heart stilling for a faint second in his chest. If only he could call out to her, say her name, as he once did in the hollows of the Neverland. His mermaid's tongue and faerie's banter were lost to him in this foreign, adult's language, utterly useless. Even his triumphant crow abandoned him, his ultimate failure standing before him as he managed to utter one, single heart-wrenching word:

"Wendy," he murmured in a soft, dejected whisper, which was too low and indistinct to be heard.

Though to no avail, did that sorrowful cry go unheard by his storyteller, since she was too grown-up now to heed a child's soundless plea. Peter turned away, his eyes refusing to shed a single tear. He would not cry—not as he did when he realised that his beloved mother could not return with him. Jane had been a minor consolation in his loss, certainly. But her jubilant presence did little to quell the ache that had penetrated his unbreakable heart.

The boy solemnly shook his golden head. He had lied to Wendy when he took Jane and, claiming without tears, that her _daughter_ was now his new _mother_. He had led the grieving woman to believe that she would be forgotten as he replaced her with another _Wendy_. He withheld his true feelings, however, as masked his deceit well. But it was merely a façade, a mask of indifference. He had laughed when he broke her heart; though inside, it nearly killed him.

But there was hope, his childish reasoning reminded him. There was hope that his dear Wendy would remember him. He could still take her to the Neverland, teach her to fly again; and perhaps, if only by the sheer wonder of a child's asinine faith in faerie dust, return her to the innocent child she once was. His heart pounded at the prospect, his mind set ablaze by this wondrous possibility. The island had a magic all of its own. Surely it could grant him this one wish, this one desire.

Thus persuaded by this newly-inspired hope, he turned his sight toward her once more, silently promising her the one thing he could now give. And yet, as he looked at her and gathered the courage to speak, he saw another enter, its dark shape shifting past the nursery's hallowed threshold, drifting forward until it eclipsed the immaculate angel in white.

Its dark arms encircled her, imprisoned her within its possessive hold. It pulled her closer, a deadly menace unforeseen, though Wendy only laughed as she accepted its touch without question. She looked pleased, almost content—as if she had been captive to this black entity's charm before—and did not see the one whose innocent heart broke as he turned away in horror at the sight.

Peter frowned, refusing to acknowledge this shadowy presence. A deep pang of regret vexed him as he stood there, on the casement, unwilling to accept that another now stood in his place. Though as he heard Wendy laugh, his traitorous sight turned toward the origin of this disturbing apparition that incited a thousand chilling terrors, which were too awful to even utter aloud, the dark one who spoke to her in words he could not understand.

He shivered at the sight of them together; as it was then, in that ill-fated moment, that his sight fell upon the cause of Wendy's happiness. For there, holding Wendy in a locked embrace, stood a man, his face obscured by shadow and flame.

Peter scowled at the man, since he did not have to ask who this being was; he knew already. This was the dreaded figure that, without sword or deadly aim, was still a viable threat to his existence. For this man was the greatest enemy of all, as he was the man-called-_husband_. The eternal child felt a chill of ill-foreboding run down his small spine, his pale eyes now fixed upon the monster that dared touch _his_ Wendy.

The fretful boy watched as the foul creature placed its leather-encased hand against Wendy's face, the other soon following suit. However, this time, it was not a hand made of flesh and blood, nor was it a leather glove that fell against Wendy's porcelain face. No. It was something else.

Peter's eyes narrowed, discerning its slim, silvery facsimile edge as it tenderly caressed a smiling cheek. He considered the strange, sharp appendage, finding that it had replaced a hand with its menacing edge. He had seen such before, he was sure—somewhere, long ago, when pirates sailed the waters of the Neverland. But alas, he could not recall the wearer of such a deadly instrument, as his memories often faded from his mind. He could not retain every memory, after all; new ones always crowded the old ones, leaving them to fall into the darkened realm of the subconscious.

Nevertheless, he recognised the false implement well enough. It was a hook; and a deadly one, at that. A fleeting imprint of a memory, not quite forgotten yet almost, surged through his thoughts; but his mind was too weary and heartbroken to comprehend it, since his notice only concerned the couple beyond the window.

Shaking his head in frustration, he stared at the man, who seemed to have aged as time intended. Peter's frown deepened, as if he finally noticed the shocks of silver in his adversary's otherwise dark hair. Threads of fine grey strands—no doubt the masterful work of an invisible artist's hand—were meticulously etched against the pale temples as the gossamer lines joined with a plethora of crow's feet—almost invisible to his sharp scrutiny—found at the corner of each entrancing eye.

The silent observer of all this could barely contain his rage, the maddened strands of an emerald jealousy clouding all reason as he dared to admit the admirable qualities of this man, this…_grown-up_. A certain, graceful demeanour marked the loathsome man's rugged features, now tamed by a society that constrained him, yet could never fully bind him. He had every quality of a true, grown up man; and was something that the child, who had outlasted all, could never be.

And yet, the man who held Wendy was found wanting, imperfect in his adversary's timeless youth, but yet drew a sensation of spite for being so beautifully flawed in his age.

Peter baulked at the notion of feeling envious of this man, this _villain_, who would soon lose that much-coveted strength and prowess as another damning year passed into oblivion, and thus taking away yet another strand of that precious earthly life. Peter glowered darkly. This man would feel the bitter sting of mortality, whereas he, Peter Pan, was eternal, ageless; and would thus outlive everyone, including Wendy.

Wendy.

His heart stilled at the thought of her growing old, her once inquisitive face fading as age and death overtook its loveliness. Indeed, he could not bear the thought of this impending tragedy, just as he could not accept her betrayal of him. His insightful gaze then returned to the figure which had robbed him of his Wendy, his eyes taking in every lurid detail as another man held her, touched her…thimbled her.

He gasped in pained disbelief, as he glared at the man-called-husband. He uttered a loathsome children's curse, almost hating the man, and wanting nought but to kill this unworthy wretch for taking his dear Wendy away. This man, this _grown_-_up_, had committed the greatest sin against him, by forcing his mother to become the one thing he hated most of all.

His hand moved to the golden sword that lay sheathed at his side, his thin fingers curving dexterously over the hilt. A stifled breath escaped him; where, for a moment, he considered barging through the window and wounding the man grievously. For no enemy, real or imagined, could be greater than he.

The Neverland's bright-eyed prince remained poised, ready for his chance to strike. His nemesis would not see him, since the crude man's back was turned towards the window. Peter breathed out in several quick short breaths as he considered this present adversary, with his fine tailored suit and short curly hair, and muttered yet another curse that only a child could know.

The tiny sword-hand tightened around the blade's hilt as a pair of condemning blue eyes looked balefully upon the one who stole what was rightfully his. Even the man's eyes, which were the deepest shade of blue he had ever seen—blue as the strident colour of forget-me-nots—could not banish his resolve. This man was his, and he would die.

He was ready to strike the fatal blow when he heard Wendy's bell-like voice echo in the growing silence. "Oh, James, of course you make me happy! No _other_ could!" she quietly exclaimed as she smiled and gave him a _thimble_.

Peter drew back, as if burned by the tender act elicited. He stared at Wendy, utterly at a loss by her tenderness, his puerile thoughts in tragic disarray. She had given another her _thimble_—a thimble that rightfully belonged to him!—without hesitance. She even smiled; her dark eyes bright with some wistful emotion he could not name.

His enemy kissed her then, those forget-me-not eyes glowing with a sapphire radiance that could not be found, even in a place like the Neverland. Wendy's expression held the illusion of wonderment as those all-encompassing eyes radiated the same unfettered emotions that she, too, must have felt. They seemed to melt into one another, their bodies becoming one in the instant when the words, "I am yours," escaped from Wendy's lovely mouth.

From the window, however, Peter watched it all, his childlike heart finally grasping something that it never dared before. For in Wendy's eyes, he saw the one thing from which he must be forever barred. It was the _look_ _of_ _love_, he realised belatedly—that same love she had once offered to him as they danced among the starlit path of the faeries long ago. And just as tragically, he was only too late to appreciate it.

But now that look had changed, had evolved into something he could barely distinguish as another accepted all that it entailed within those expressive dark depths that were Wendy's eyes.

A sorrowful tear brimmed at the corner of the tragic boy's eye as he watched the man place the hook ever so lovingly against Wendy's heart. He heard the faint murmur of a returned sentiment achingly similar to hers, yet more profound and meaningful. Peter's sword nearly fell from his hand when he discerned those words that were no longer adult and alien to him. For they were words he would have said to Wendy, if only given the chance.

For then it was that he realised, with painful clarity, that he had lost her forever.

A sob, filled with the hopelessness of a loss too deep to express in words, escaped him, though he had not meant for it to. For just as that traitorous, verbalised emotion escaped him, the dark head of his adversary shot up, turned, and then looked upon the origin of that almost inaudible cry.

Peter almost darted from his perch, but his pride held him fast as he refused to turn coward and yield this man his victory. A wary breath revealed his trepidation, his eyes widening in fear as that insightful midnight gaze fell upon him. His cherubic face contorted into a look of discontent; he had been caught by the enemy at last.

And so they stared at one another: man and boy, villain and hero. Placid blue warred with ever-tumultuous forget-me-not in a locked battle where only one would be the final victor. Peter glared dangerously into the eyes of his nemesis, hoping, daring the man to draw first.

Though to his dismay, his adversary remained as firm and unyielding as stone, those possessive arms holding Wendy in a locked embrace of undeniable protection. Peter could scarcely withhold his disgust, for the man was indeed bold. Would he also dare to use her as a shield, as well? Surely he would not, as that would indeed be very bad form.

Peter then considered this man in all his humble finery, allowing thoughts, once long suppressed by childish ambition, to come to the forefront of his mind. But what his mind's eye saw overwhelmed him as his fleeting memory returned in full, for it was something that had almost been forgotten. He barely withheld a shudder as the faint recognition of a man with a hook grimly stood upon the deck of an illustrious brig, that forbidding gaze searing all who stood in his powerful wake.

A stifled gasp of disbelief escaped the boy, as the harsh, grim reminder of what had once been shared between them returned to his memory at last. It was the same daunting figure—though changed in form and appearance—that haunted his dreams with its horrid iron hook. That same wretched villain who had almost poisoned him. He frowned. But had not Wendy, too, made mention of this loathsome fiend when he returned for her during spring-cleaning time? He was almost certain she had. And now the bastard of a villain was here, holding the one he sent over the plank in his arms. Peter did not dare ask how Captain Hook gained Wendy's affections, for he was certain that it was an _awfully_ _long_ _story_.

Even still, he could not believe it, could not fathom how _his_ Wendy could want one such as this—this man, who would forever bear the mark of the Neverland's most perceptive and intuitive of creatures. As this was also the same vile abomination he soundly defeated without so much as a fight long ago. And yet, that placid-blue glare that cast such a hellish fiery hue had not dimmed in the passing years, he idly reflected. Nor had the aura of latent danger left this man, not entirely. Peter could sense that some other emotion held its sway over the darkness in that otherwise stone-black heart.

But still, this man—hideous monster and most dreaded figure of the Neverland—was Wendy's husband? _This_ was Jane's father? Good God, if not for the normal guise he exuded, the man would be most terrifying among the king's court indeed.

Peter shook his head, tangled flaxen curls falling waywardly against a furrowed brow. How had Wendy come to accept his enemy and lovingly welcome the Captain's touch with open arms? But most of all, how could she be happy with _him_? He glowered at the Captain with a mark of defiance. Surely this was only an illusion, an illusion he well intended to break. However, before he could move forward to reveal his presence, an unassailable voice echoed into the depths of his mind.

_Stay where you are_, the clipped London accent charged in a commanding tone. Peter glared resentfully at the origin of the voice, his lips set in a firm line of hatred. Oh, how he despised being told what to do by such mindless grown-ups, but most especially by this one! Was the Captain so eager to lose the other hand?

Though in spite of his inner vexations, he remained broodingly silent, allowing his adversary the chance to continue, and Hook awarded him with a sardonic half-grin, though his forget-me-not eyes seemed to emote something akin to gratitude. It was a most quelling sight to see; wholly unbelievable, if the truth were to be told. For with his reluctant admission, Peter set aside his present resentment, although his eyes were wary of some deceitful trick on the captain's part.

And yet, no tricks did the former pirate captain have, as his soundless words revealed his truest intent.

_It has been many a year since you have visited this windowsill, to listen to a little girl's stories, or to watch her and her brothers play at pirates, while you look upon them from without._ He looked at the boy, his impassive visage betraying nothing._ This is not some idle call, I realise. I know _why_ you are here, and I will not stand idly by while you impose on her life again. She is happy now. You _must_ let her go_, the boy's nemesis silently whispered.

Pain, like no other, shot through Peter like a bolt; for like the sharp edge of a knife, it vaulted through his chest and pierced the vulnerable muscle within. He shook his head, and cast a deadening glare at this dark thief of hearts—for that was what the Captain was—with bitter apathy, his words just as silent and unwelcoming as a cold winter's day.

_And what if I refuse?_ Peter returned bitterly. _She has always been _myWendy_, never yours; for how could she want a creature that is old, alone, and very much done for?_

Whatever pity Hook may have had for the eternal child faded in the instant. With Peter's harsh rebuke, his pale forget-me-nots turned a faint shade of crimson, becoming a brilliant burning red, as his next words echoed with the same murderous tone it had once expressed:

_You dare to use your childish logic on me now, boy? After all this time, you are still as foolish a creature as when I had departed from the Neverland._ He stole a glance at the woman he held so tenderly in his arms, and his hardened expression softened a fraction._ You cannot know how much she means to me. In my resentment of you, I took her from her home and family out of personal gain, and yet she sought out the one shred of goodness in me, and made me see that I wasn't as evil and wretched as I had once believed myself, since she claims to love the man I am. Can you imagine it, Pan? I am actually _loved_ by someone, and I am…no longer alone._

He looked into Peter's eyes, urging the boy to understand._ I will not allow you to hurt her again. For with your carelessness, you hurt both her and her brothers. You turned your back on them when they began to grow up without your wondrous presence to give consent. They stopped hoping for your glorious return; and with that good sense, they finally have lives that no longer revolve around a selfish little boy who forgot about them._

_Stop it!_ Peter almost cried out, but stayed his tongue, lest Wendy should hear him._ I won't listen to any more of these lies_, he returned defiantly. And yet, somewhere, deep inside his heart, he knew that they were true. A formidable enemy—even one as detestable and repugnant as Captain James Hook—would always remain steadfast, constant, and never diverge from the truth. He hadn't, even during that climatic battle, where Hook revealed the inevitable outcome of what would have to Wendy when she returned to London with her brothers and the Lost Boys. For the Captain had been right, ultimately: Wendy _had_ grown up and married another…

Peter looked away, lost in his own tragedy.

Sensing the child's sorrow, Hook took pity on the boy, knowing this form of heartbreak all too well. _Pan, do listen to me_, he told Peter gently, and only continued when the boy looked at him._ What I said to you long ago was only half-true. She loved you, yes; but when you left her, she had to grow up and live the life that was intended for her. She could not stay a child forever._ His penetrating gaze conveyed these meaningful words, and Peter saw that the Captain did not harbour conceit, nor triumph over his making Wendy his own, but understanding in their dark-blue depths. _As well as she could not stay in the Neverland and simply be what you wanted. For all children grow up, except you. You know this._

Peter's head fell at these words, his face a show of utter defeat. _But she was my Wendy!_ he silently cried out, and once again stirred compassion in his adversary's black heart.

_Oh, Pan, how right you are, for once. A part of you still lingers in her, as she recounts stories of you to Jane. _Hook then glared, reprovingly. _And I daresay that I was far from pleased when I found that you had taken our daughter for more than a week for spring cleaning. _Peter smiled triumphantly at this, a part of his old self returning. Hook merely smirked at the impish child.

_However, you returned her to us, and so I am inclined to forgive you and to…thank you for leaving two engaging ladies in my care. Both are happy here, I assure you._ He then paused for a moment, his clean-shaven face affectionate when he glanced upon the sleeping form of his daughter, who had, until then, been momentarily forgotten. He then looked at the boy, finding himself whisper, _But a part of her will _always_ be your Wendy, even _I_ must accept this. For it 'twas _you_ who took her first kiss and enticed her wondrous mind with things that only children can dream of. You gave her that first touch of a love from which she would later become a most enchanting woman, that same woman who stands before you now. _

The boy's smile faltered for a moment as he digested what Hook meant. He bit his lip, and met the Captain's commanding stare. _Then she is…_ He could not finish the thought, for the last lingering traces of a childish possessiveness quietly overtook him.

_She is happy,_ Hook finished for him, sensing the boy's reluctance. _She has a family now; a daughter who adores her; brothers, who are still a little too protective of her…and she has me, _he added with some humility, which reflected most ardently in his words. _Yes, Peter, yes she is happy. And I promise you, that I will make her so for as long as I live. On this, you have my word._

The eternal boy sighed then, believing the Captain for once, as he very well knew that Hook's vow to protect and love Wendy was true and without falsehood, and therefore unbreakable; the man had changed since his departure from the Neverland, and Peter could only smile and admit this sole defeat to his old adversary. Wendy was happy now; and although he was unable to fully share in that sublime happiness with her himself, he knew that another could.

Thus it was that Peter Pan, the boy who would forever remain a child, found that he could let his beloved storyteller go. She would be happy without him, he realised; the Captain would see to that.

And so he smiled at his former nemesis, a silent promise on a pair of mischievous lips. Hook returned the small gesture in kind, his intimidating gaze, for once, appreciative.

Peter nodded his golden head in assent, turning away slightly. The faint traces of dawn were on the horizon, his home beyond the heavens peeking through the rose-coloured clouds. He gave a thoughtful glance to Hook, and then to Wendy before waving a timid farewell to them.

The man-called-husband grinned, his eyes merry as he watched the boy turn and alight from the window. An amused chuckle reverberated deeply within his chest, and he felt his wife turn in his arms, her dark eyes curious.

"What is it, James? Why are you laughing?"

Hook only smiled at his inquisitive storyteller. "It's nothing, beauty, nothing at all," he returned with a lover's gentle caress. He felt her nestle deeper into his embrace, and he sighed contentedly at this loving show of contact. Only Wendy could be so wondrous in her tender-taken touch of him. His pirate's smile widened, and he tenderly whispered, "It was merely the wind and a faint memory of something that can never be forgotten."

But even as he said this, Hook, the man who was now his beloved Wendy's husband, held her ever the more closely as he looked beyond the stained-glass window and nodded to the figure, now a faint speck on the distant horizon, whose only promise it was to free Wendy from the invisible tie that forever bound them as it flew toward that second-most right star, and straight on till morning.

…

**Author's Notes: I confess I wrote this oneshot, from the better part of four years ago, so I apologise in advance for any shoddiness. I just wanted to get this story posted, since I never really got around to doing so before.**

**Oh, and if anyone caught the allusion to **_**Lord of the Rings**_**, with 'The bitter sting of mortality' bit, congratulations! Elrond's words echoed quite profoundly there for me! :)**

**But, yes, I hope everyone liked this oneshot, even though it's more so a one-sided Peter/Wendy, combined with an obvious, double-sided Hook/Wendy near the end. And yes, it's a terrible truth that Hook left Peter with, in his foreshadowing of Wendy growing up, but one that happened, both in the novel and in the film. J.M. Barrie did not completely leave us with a happy ending when he gave us **_**Peter**__**Pan**_**. There was a bit of heartbreak and tragedy in the story, as well.**

**Nevertheless, from the 2003 film's perspective, I was actually intrigued by Hook's concept of Wendy eventually growing up and marrying someone else. He really wasn't lying to Peter about what would happen; and since he did mention the fact, and Peter reacted so badly to it, I thought, 'Hey, why don't I write a oneshot that focuses on exactly that?' Of course…Hook being Wendy's husband was an intriguingly provocative, added bonus, since I love the good Captain and all! Having him as Wendy's husband simply gave the story much more of a powerful impact on her growing up and loving someone other than Peter, I think.**

**I also wanted to write a piece that focused on the Peter/Wendy/Hook love triangle, with Peter and Hook having a serious conversation over their feelings for Wendy. It's both heartbreaking and sad that Peter doesn't get the girl in the end; but Peter is Wendy's first love, and sometimes we don't always end up with our first love. It's reality. It's also something that I have a tendency to focus on, as well. It's a part of life and growing up, and the story of **_**Peter Pan**_** is a perfect illustration of that.**

**But again, for what it's worth, I do hope that everyone liked it. I should have gotten this story out long ago, but I am glad that I actually waited, since I could revise it a bit. That, and it's also an early Christmas gift to the fans in the **_**Peter**__**Pan**_** fandom! :)**

**Merry Christmas, everyone!**

— **Kittie**


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